


Twist of Fate

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altissia spoilers, Episode: Ignis spoilers, F/M, I mean do I have to be specific here, M/M, Pining, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 11:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13270563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: Prompto doesn't believe in soulmates.





	Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to put here. Just that I love soulmate type stuff but, of course, I felt the need to put my own spin on it.

Prompto doesn't believe in soulmates.

It doesn't matter that his parents are soulbonded. Or that his best friend's found his soulmate already (Prompto's not jealous; he's just _not_ , OK?). The band around every person's right wrist, a thin line of red that glows bright as the sun when you supposedly meet the love of your life, the one that everyone on Eos is born with, is just another mark on Prompto's skin -- one he'd like to forget.

When he was younger, he thought it was incredibly romantic. To find the person you were meant to be with forever? To know you'd never have to worry about being alone? How great was that? He never thought about the downsides, back then: the possibility that a person could never meet their soulmate, or what might happen if you fell in love with someone else before finding your soulmate. What if your soulmate died the day after you finally found them? Would you get another one? That seemed both unlikely and selfish. 

In any case, Prompto decided when he was around seventeen or so that he didn't care about soulmates. It might be some shortcut to love or a relationship, but he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather meet someone and learn to love them on their own merits, instead of according to some arbitrary, predetermined destiny. Who decided who was someone's soulmate, anyway? The Astrals? As if they gave a shit about humanity. 

Even so, every now and then he'd glance at Noctis's soulmark, the brighter hue always seeming to tease at Prompto. _See? It works. Noct has Luna. You just have to be patient_.

Fuck patience. And fuck soulmates, for that matter. Prompto doesn't believe.

* * *

Prompto meets Ignis a few days before Noctis is due to leave Insomnia to travel to Altissia for his wedding. He's known _of_ Ignis for quite a while, owing to the man being something of Noctis’s caretaker, cook, chauffeur, and personal assistant all in one. For whatever reason, though, their paths have never crossed until the day Prompto's been told to present himself at the Citadel to be fitted for his Crownsguard uniform.

He's been chilling in the gigantic lobby, the ground floor of the Citadel, waiting for someone to arrive and show him to the tailor's. He'd expected, after checking in with one of the two receptionists, to be greeted by some low-level lackey; Prompto doesn't expect he rates any higher than that. Instead, when the tall young man approaches him and clears his throat, Prompto nearly falls off the couch, almost drops his phone, somehow recovers and stands -- and then feels a blush heat up his face.

"Ignis Scientia," the man says, holding out a hand. After a moment, Prompto swallows and reaches out to shake the proffered hand, even as he sticks his phone into his pocket with the other. "And you are Prompto Argentum?"

"That's me," Prompto agrees blithely, his smile frozen on his face. _Oh no_ , is all he can think. _Oh no, he's hot_.

The band on his wrist doesn't glow or anything; Prompto doesn't feel that chime or whatever it is soulmates are supposed to feel when it goes off. That's OK, he thinks as he numbly follows Ignis to the elevator bank at the rear of the lobby. It's not like someone like him would ever have a chance of making it work with someone like Ignis.

Having a hopeless crush is something everyone goes through at least once before they find their soulmate, anyway. So it's fine. Prompto tells himself that repeatedly throughout the afternoon, anyway.

* * *

For a long time, Prompto's not even sure whether Ignis has a soulmate.

The man is impeccably dressed no matter the situation. They might be fighting daemons or sabertusks or waiting while Noctis indulges in some fishing to unwind from the stress of recent events. He wears a pair of driving gloves that seem so well-fitted to his hands that Prompto begins to fantasize about simply seeing Ignis's bare hands. It's not exactly the most dignified of fantasies -- imagining pulling the damned things off with his _teeth_ \-- but he knows he's got it bad when he wakes early one morning in a shared hotel room in Lestallum and has to hide in the bathroom to take care of himself.

Obsessing over _gloves_ , for fucksake.

Ignis even wears them when he cooks. It'd almost be charming if it wasn't so frustrating. They perfectly cover the line where his soulmark would show, and Prompto honestly can't tell if it's on purpose or not.

Granted, he himself wears gloves most of the time, and he leaves a couple of the leather cuffs on even when he takes the gloves off. But his soulmark shows, even if other marks don't. He doesn't think Ignis is hiding something -- not something of great importance, at least, considering if there were some big scandalous secret he probably wouldn't be in the position of power that he is.

Still, Ignis doesn't seem to show any particular attachment. He doesn't mention someone he misses from Insomnia; he's warm but firm with Noctis and brotherly with Gladio. (Which makes sense, since the two probably grew up knowing each other in the Citadel.) So Prompto thinks maybe Ignis doesn't have a soulmate, or else is so private and tight-lipped about it that no one knows.

It doesn’t stop Prompto’s guilty fantasies, though.

For a long time, at least, Prompto manages to put aside the intense curiosity. As time goes on, he relaxes more around Ignis. It helps that he's coming to see Ignis as more than just a hot guy who's undoubtedly great in bed; Ignis has a sly, dry wit and a way of punctuating a conversation with just the right comment to either make everyone shut up or to make them all groan at a particularly awful pun. The day Prompto manages a similar pun in retort, he feels Ignis's approving gaze on him and blushes. 

The crush doesn't go away. It just sort of settles, low in Prompto's belly, an everpresent constant. Noct is the King of Lucis; Gladio is his Shield; Prompto has a crush on Ignis.

And then they arrive in Altissia.

* * *

"Watch over him, Prompto," Gladio had said, as if he needed to be ordered to stay there. Prompto had only nodded while Gladio took one more look at Ignis, then left the room to, Prompto assumed, see to Noctis.

Prompto sits in the chair he'd dragged over to the bed to watch Ignis, just as ordered. Watching Ignis has never been a hardship for him; if anything, he'd probably done too much of it over the past several months. Prompto still remembers, with vivid, unnerving clarity, the first time he'd met Ignis: at the Citadel, where he'd reported to be measured for his Crownsguard uniform. Ignis, tall and remote in a black suit, had seemed remote, unapproachable, back then.

Now that Prompto's had a little time to get to know him, he's found Ignis to be anything but distant. The first day -- well, after they'd pushed the broken-down Regalia to Hammerhead and gone sabertusk-hunting and then found a haven to camp at for the evening -- Ignis had made a point of sitting down with Prompto and asking him what he liked to eat.

"Anything at all," Ignis had said. "Dishes, or just specific ingredients--?"

Prompto, confused but eager to please, had rattled off a list of things he liked that had clearly surprised Ignis, by the raised eyebrows and tilted head. "I'm sorry," Ignis had said after a moment. "For some reason, I was expecting you to have an appetite similar to that of Noctis."

"Oh, yeah, no way, dude," Prompto had replied with a laugh. "I know he isn't into veggies, but I went on a big weight-loss kick a few years ago--"

He remembered stopping then, in horror, wondering if Noctis had ever told Ignis about the overweight boy who'd approached him once in elementary school, or if Noctis had even ever figured out that that selfsame boy now kept a trim figure and rigorous exercise schedule. But Ignis had only continued to look at him blankly. If Noctis had told him about it, Ignis was keeping it to himself. 

Somehow, it made Prompto like him a whole lot more.

After that, if his favorite green curry soup or peppered daggerquill breasts showed up as part of the evening meal, he made a point of giving Ignis a warm smile of thanks or offered to clean up the dishes afterwards.

Even mundane activities such as meal prep or cleaning up seem more interesting around Ignis. Though Prompto knows, rationally, that he's probably just romanticizing such things due to his feelings for Ignis, it remains that the boring chores seem to pass by quicker when he has Ignis to pass the time with. He's even found himself offering to help with _laundry_ , his least favorite of all tasks, just to be closer to Ignis.

And that's the problem. He loves being around Ignis. He might be _in love_ with Ignis. But he won't know, and he can't, because he's pretty sure Ignis is in love with Noctis. Who himself is devoted to Luna.

(Luna. Prompto still can't believe she's gone. His brain can't seem to comprehend that. He wanted so badly to meet her, to thank her for inspiring him to befriend Noctis and lose weight and generally change his whole life. How can she just be gone?)

Ignis makes a sound, his head rolling on the pillow. Prompto moves to the bed in an instant. While Ignis's hair has mostly dried in loose tufts around his face -- making him look much younger than the image he normally projects -- his skin is still seared with strange, fiery scars, as if he'd been licked by flame all over the left side of his face. The skin itself is almost blue instead of red, though, making Prompto wonder exactly what caused the damage. He's more worried than he wants to admit that the left eye is permanently closed, but they won't know until he wakes up.

Prompto can, at least, make Ignis more comfortable. His shirt has dried stiffly, with a sheen of salt on it that suggests he spent a lot of time in the canals. Prompto finds a blanket in the cabinet, a velvety soft comforter that shouldn't be too heavy on Ignis, and then goes about removing Ignis's boots and setting them neatly out of the way. He lays the blanket across Ignis's lower half; kneeling beside Ignis, he carefully begins unbuttoning his shirt.

This was not how he'd ever envisioned this. He'd fantasized, more than once, about stumbling together into a hotel room, kissing hotly, so distracted by each other that they'd barely paid attention to clothes. Prompto sucks in a breath and finishes the task at hand, then carefully slides one sleeve down Ignis's arm -- this takes more work, the crumpled sleeve rolled up at the elbow and dried to the consistency of cardboard, but he finally accomplishes this job as well. He pulls the blanket the rest of the way up, tucking it around Ignis's shoulders.

Gladio hasn't come back yet. Prompto debates checking on him, but he still wants to take care of Ignis. The latter wins out, and he goes to the bathroom, ducking a washcloth in warm water and then filling a glass of cold water as well. That'll probably warm to room temperature before Ignis wakes, but it'll be there just in case. He sets the glass down on the bedside table and sits next to Ignis again, using the washcloth to carefully clean Ignis's face.

This is the most delicate operation yet. Prompto doesn't want to disturb Ignis or hurt him, so he's careful to avoid the spots where the scarring is strongest; at the same time, he doesn't want the scars to get infected. Bit by bit, he gently cleans Ignis's cheekbones, his forehead, the long slope of his nose. Dirt mars the strong chin, the jawline, and only so much can be done with water, but Prompto knows well how much Ignis would prefer to be clean.

When he's done at last with Ignis's face, Prompto smooths the cloth gently over Ignis's hair. He doesn't try to push it back or style it, but it seems harmless to simply touch him. The thought strikes him that Ignis could wake up to this, and Prompto's hand jerks back, the cloth falling to the pillowcase.

Ignis makes another low sound. One bare arm works out from under the blanket, as if he's uncomfortable.

"Sorry, sorry," Prompto whispers, and slides the blanket down a little to give Ignis more room.

"Prompto?" Ignis mumbles. Prompto freezes again. "Prompto, is that you?"

"Yeah," Prompto says, quietly. "It's me. I'm here."

"Where are we?" Ignis's voice is faint and scratchy. Had he been screaming?

"We're back at the Leville. In Altissia?" Prompto bites his lip. "How much do you remember?"

"Everything," Ignis says. "I think. The last thing I remember was..." The hand that emerged from the blanket makes a fist, then loosens again. "Fighting with the chancellor at the altar."

"That's where Gladio and I found you and Noct," Prompto replies. "Noct's OK. He's sleeping, but he didn't get hurt."

"He did." Ignis's whispered words cut Prompto to the heart. "But Luna healed him before... before..."

"Don't try to talk, Iggy." Prompto bites his lip and reaches for the water. "Here, have something to drink."

Ignis holds his hand out, and Prompto places the glass in it. Ignis's retreating hand is very slow, and Prompto watches with his breath in his throat as Ignis cautiously lifts his head, drinks -- tips the water glass too far and spills water all over his face and throat.

"Oh, Gods," Prompto gasps, but at least he's got the washcloth right there and can wipe up most of the spill immediately.

"Perhaps something with a straw," Ignis says, but his voice is shaking and Prompto can hear the fear behind his words.

"Yeah," he says, and puts the glass aside. "Iggy, your--"

"No," Ignis replies.

"But--"

"I appreciate your concern, Prompto, but I'm not ready to discuss it."

Swallowing hard, Prompto nods. "You got it, Iggy."

"I'm going to sleep again for a little while," Ignis says. "But, Prompto?" His hand gropes out, and Prompto catches it in both of his. "Thank you for being here."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Prompto says, and means it.

* * *

Chancellor Claustra sends a doctor over to the hotel to check on Ignis a couple of days later; apparently, she's received word of his injuries in service to the people of Altissia. Ignis has already insisted on getting up and moving around on his own, although his left eye remains shut and the right has stayed closed as if in sympathy. Gladio found a cane for him somewhere so that he can at least sound his way around the suite without bashing his shins on everything in sight, while Prompto took it on himself to clear the pathways of the rooms as much as possible.

The doctor's diagnosis is grim. While he doesn't know how the injury occurred -- and Ignis is unusually tight-lipped as to details -- he does his best to examine Ignis's right eye. Afterwards, he shakes his head as he puts his instruments away.

"I'm not seeing any response from your right eye," he says, "and I'd hesitate to touch the left without surgery. It almost looks as if you were burned, but the damage seems to be mostly cosmetic to the skin itself. Was there an intensely bright light, or--?"

"I believe I remember something to that effect," Ignis replies. His words are clipped and tense, the closest Prompto's ever heard him come to losing control.

"That might be it," the doctor replies. "For now, I can't really recommend anything without more examination or testing. If you'd like to come to the hospital--"

Ignis shakes his head. "I must remain with the King until our task is complete," he replies.

The doctor shrugs, _hm_ s ambivalently. "It's your choice," he says, as he hoists his bag over his shoulder. "Your eyes may be better if left to heal on their own for some time. I can at least recommend you to a shop where you can get a proper cane, as well as some dark glasses to protect your eyes from deteriorating any further."

For the moment, Ignis has been wearing some sunglasses of Noctis's, but they're simple dark lenses; wraparound shades would suit better, Prompto thinks. Ignis only nods, though. "I'd appreciate that very much," he says.

The doctor sorts through some cards in his wallet, takes one out and hands it off to Prompto. "Here," he tells Prompto. "They'll set your friend up properly."

Prompto mumbles his thanks and tucks the card into his pocket as the doctor leaves. Once the door closes, Ignis stands, careful, one gloved hand on the arm of the sofa as he uses it to orient himself towards the bedroom; then he makes his way there, slow, his temporary cane finding the decorative step that runs around the edges of the suite's main room.

"Iggy?" Prompto asks.

Ignis's voice is sharp enough to cut glass. "I require some time to myself, Prompto. Please let me be."

"Sure," Prompto whispers, and winces when the door slams shut behind Ignis. He turns to face the huge windows looking out over the bay and pretends not to hear the sound of something crashing against a wall in the bedroom.

* * *

Eventually, Noctis awakens. While he's silent and grief-stricken over the loss of Lunafreya, they still have to decide what to do next. Ignis has overheard chatter from some of the bellhops that there's been some unusual activity in Cartanica: a gigantic tree sprung out of nowhere, abruptly halting a mining operation there -- as well as a discovery of what appeared to be some kind of ancient chamber.

"I believe, from their description, that it is another royal tomb," Ignis tells the others. "If we cannot make any further decision as to our next move, perhaps we can at least travel there and secure another of your ancestors' arms, Noctis."

"For all the good it'll do," Noctis mutters. Gladio makes a face, but Prompto can only look worried for his friend.

Gladio's clearly frustrated by their lack of progress; it takes a couple of weeks to arrange the train travel and to make sure Ignis is well enough to join them, and every day that goes by sees the Shield a little tenser, his shoulders tighter. He paces around the hotel room or wanders the streets of Altissia as the city begins to drag itself out of the rubble. Noctis spends long hours in his bedroom, staring out the window or at the ring he clutches in the palm of his hand. Ignis works on his phone, activating voice functions, or spends time training himself to use his new cane to help himself get about. 

And Prompto watches Ignis. The scar on Ignis's face has faded from the odd silver-blue coloration to a more normal reddish-brown, the livid color of fresh injury. A second examination has resulted in no better news than the first: Ignis's left eye has sealed itself shut, probably permanently, while the right is milky and glassy. He can open it, but he'll never see out of either eye again.

Ignis doesn't complain. Prompto aches for him.

* * *

Cartanica is a nightmare. The marshy, still waters stink to high heaven, and when they're not being eaten alive by mosquitos and other biting bugs, they're being attacked by all manner of beasts and daemons. Yellow mud splashes all over Prompto's boots and promises to permanently stain his favorite jeans (why, he wonders again, did he choose these to wear with his Crownsguard uniform? Oh yeah: because the couerl print kinda, subtly, goes with Ignis's one purple shirt. Fucking hells, Prompto's an idiot).

It barely even feels like they make any progress at all before evening arrives. The machinery's down, a giant drill or something completely blocking the path down into the lowest part of the mine. The main generator isn't working, so they have to find a backup generator to power the winch that'll lift the drill. That means following a roundabout path to a shed where the backup generator is stored. By the time Prompto's figured out which switches to flip to start it up again, full night has fallen over Gralea.

There's a haven on site, at least, so they wearily set up tents. Noctis makes an attempt at cooking, apparently feeling guilty after Gladio'd blown up at him on the train: unfortunately, they're so tired that they'd forgotten to bring any fresh food along, and they have to resort to tins of beans heated over the fire. Prompto waits for Noctis to make a face at the meal, but either he's too exhausted or too subdued to make a fuss about eating the abhorred vegetables. 

Prompto wishes Ignis could see the sight. His gut twists and he puts down the half-empty can of beans, unable to finish eating.

"Prompto," Ignis says quietly. "If you could help me to the tent, please."

Blinking, Prompto stands and goes to Ignis at once. He's been hovering near Ignis all day; what with Gladio's roiling anger and Noctis still pissed about the fight on the train, Prompto felt like the safest place to be was near Ignis. He's glad he made the choice, too; Ignis stumbled once or twice on the muddy path, a slimy rutted trail left by earthmovers, pitted with rocks and stinking puddles of old water. Despite Ignis's insistence that he was fine with the cane, this terrain is just too unpredictable for him to walk alone.

Now, Prompto guides Ignis over to the tent's opening, instructing him when to duck, helping him to the ground. They'd laid down an extra tarpaulin and a blanket against the chill stone, but it's still cold, and Ignis shivers as he lays back. Prompto reaches for another blanket, one of the warm wool ones, and spreads it over Ignis.

Ignis's hand gropes out and catches Prompto's. "Thank you," he says, his voice low and a little rough.

Prompto swallows hard so that his voice sounds normal when he speaks. "Of course, man," he says. "What are friends for?"

* * *

By the time they're done fighting the malboro in the fetid, ankle-deep liquid that has flooded the lowest chamber of the mine, Prompto's pretty close to gibbering. They've had to deal with a lot of pretty awful things since leaving Insomnia, from MTs to behemoths to ridiculously gigantic insects to a snake-woman that wanted its baby back, but the malboro's pretty much the worst of the lot as far as Prompto's concerned. Slimy tentacles keep dragging him under the water, the rootless young ones keep cornering him, and then there's the thing's breath, so foul it makes Prompto gag and retch.

Ignis is the one to kill it, though, somehow -- seemingly with perfect ease -- lobbing a flask of fire magic into that disgusting maw. 

Slogging through the sludgy water over to his friends, Prompto gives Ignis a look of awe, even though he knows the man can't see it. "That was pretty amazing, Iggy," he says.

"Nothing special," Ignis replies. But his smile is small and pleased, and Prompto feels that old, familiar swell of _if only_ rise up in his throat again.

There's more arguing, because Gladio's still got some unreleased anger that has to go somewhere, but eventually he subsides in the face of Noctis's determination. They'll continue with Ignis or not at all.

Prompto's pretty glad Noctis is insistent that Ignis stay with them. He's loyal to his best friend, but he can't imagine the rest of this trip happening without Ignis. He'd hate to have to fight with Noctis over it.

The thought that he actually _would_ fight with Noctis over it, let alone Gladio, preoccupies him so much on the walk back up to the haven that he almost misses Ignis's hand resting on his arm for the entire trip.

* * *

"Prompto," Ignis murmurs that night at the campfire.

Prompto looks up from his camera, blinking. He didn't get too many pictures today, on account of fighting an evil tentacle monster that tried to bad-breath him to death, but he goes through them all the same. It's habit.

"What'cha need, Iggy?" he asks.

"I was wondering if you might describe your photos to me."

Prompto blinks at Ignis. Last night, no one had wanted to review the day's shots -- understandably, given the short tempers and the difficulties they'd had just getting to the campground. Tonight, Prompto hadn't even wanted to offer. Instead, he'd sat down while Gladio started boiling water for some instant noodles.

"Uh," he says, and then, "Sure, of course. They're not great, I mean, we were kinda busy there, but..."

"Tell me all the same," Ignis says. Prompto drags his chair closer, gulping as he goes back to the first one.

"O-OK," he says. "So, uh, this one's from the morning, when we were getting ready to head back down into the mine. It was still raining a little, and Noct looked like a drowned rat, so I got a shot of him like that before he knew I had the camera out."

"I heard that," Noctis calls from the camp stove. Gladio snorts.

Ignis only smiles, though, and brushes gloved fingertips over the edge of the camera. "Go on," he says. "Who else is in the shot? How did it come out?"

Prompto continues after a moment, feeling only slightly off-balance. It's strange going into all the details he doesn't usually point out to anyone, but Ignis _hm_ s and nods and sounds actually interested.

At some point, Prompto notices, his wrist feels warm. When he looks down and sees that Ignis's hand is resting there, he goes hot all over, but he doesn't stop describing the pictures, not until Gladio brings over their noodles.

It's nice, he thinks as he tucks the camera back into the Armiger and accepts the steaming styrofoam cup. Maybe they can start a new evening tradition doing this.

* * *

Sylleblossoms.

For some reason, that's all Prompto can think about as he drags himself through the snow that blankets Gralea. He'd really been looking forward to seeing them, especially knowing how much they meant to Luna -- and to Noctis. Ignis had described them to him while they'd been passing time on the train: the tall blooms with hues ranging from indigo to a deep, almost violet color. They'd most certainly be in flower at this time of year. Prompto had thought about getting off the train when it stopped in Tenebrae outside the Nox Fleuret manor (they'd figured on regrouping there and deciding what to do next), gathering a bouquet of the blossoms for Ignis.

Ignis once said he was born in Tenebrae. He talked very little about his past, and Prompto clung to those scraps of information.

He doesn't even know if he'll ever see Ignis again. Right now, he's trying very hard not to think about that possibility. If he focuses on surviving this nightmarish winter landscape, rather than why Noctis pursued him through the train cars as if he was a daemon, or why Noctis pushed him off the roof of said train, maybe he'll make it to wherever the guys are.

If they even want him around anymore.

Prompto thinks about Ignis's gentle hand, warm through the leather glove, and pushes through another waist-high snowdrift.

* * *

"I'm so glad you're safe," Ignis says. "I don't know what I would have done if we had lost you."

Prompto wakes slowly, muzzy and dull, from a restless doze. At first, he doesn't even dare open his eyes: he's sure that he's still on the rack, clamped down to hard, cold metal, with the voice of Ardyn Izunia taunting him, teasing him. Sometimes he'd make himself sound like Noctis, or Gladio, or Ignis, and Prompto would cry: not from hearing their voices, but from the words Izunia would put in their voices. He'd imitate Noctis and tell him that he only tolerated him out of boredom. Gladio's voice would snap that Prompto would never be good enough for them. Ignis's words were softer, but no less condemning: in those deep, accented tones, Izunia sniffed dismissively that Prompto couldn't hope to capture the heart of someone so far above him.

Now, though, as he breathes out, he realizes he's laying on a bed. It's one of the bunk beds in the dormitories of Zegnautus Keep. Prompto's memories stir: the others had found him, freed him, and dragged him back here to rest. Other memories surface as well, memories of old laboratories and bodies with his face, of a metallic monster and Aranea Highwind coming to his rescue. He pushes those aside; he isn't ready to process those.

He rubs at his eyes, already hazy on the reason for waking. Something startles in the corner of his vision, though, and he turns his head to see Ignis sitting on the bunk, by his knees.

"Iggy," he croaks, and Ignis swallows and bobs his head.

"I'm so sorry," Ignis says. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"N-no. You're fine, you're great. I just. Can't sleep very well."

"Would you like some water?" Ignis starts to stand. Before he can think about it, Prompto darts out a hand and catches Ignis's in his own.

"I'm fine," he says, even though water sounds like the best thing ever created right now. "How are Gladio and Noctis?"

"They're well. They're both asleep." Ignis gestures, and Prompto sits up so that he can see the lumps occupying nearby beds. "You should try and get more rest, as well."

"So should you," Prompto says reflexively. Ignis is still wearing the wraparound glasses, but in the harsh fluorescent lights, Prompto can make out deep lines etched under Ignis's eyes. He must be exhausted.

Ignis's throat works; he looks down, away from Prompto. "I can't seem to sleep," he replies.

Prompto feels a sudden heavy thump in his chest. He looks down at where their hands are still joined. Ignis hasn't tried to pull away at all. "I heard you talking," he says, voice gone low and quiet. "That's what woke me up."

"Oh," Ignis says, and from anyone else there might be a curse after that. He tries to pull his hand away, but there's no real effort behind it, and Prompto holds on to him.

"Thinking about you helped me get through everything." Even though Ignis can't see him, Prompto still looks down at their hands rather than at him. Somehow, it's easier to let the words come out that way. "Knowing you'd come find me. I knew you would."

"Prompto," Ignis whispers. From that voice, his name sounds like a benediction.

"I know this is the shittiest time and the worst place," Prompto goes on, soft, his voice shaking a little. "I just want you to know how I feel about you, that--" He swallows, raises his eyes to Ignis's face. "I want you."

"Prompto, I," Ignis says, and suddenly they're kissing. Prompto isn't sure who started it. All he knows is that Ignis's mouth is on his, hot and sweet, one long-fingered hand cradling Prompto's cheek, the other on his shoulder, while Prompto's hands awkwardly find a place on Ignis's back. When Ignis pulls back, Prompto searches his face -- so close to his that he can see through the glasses to the worried expression beneath them.

Prompto swallows hard and then goes in for another kiss. This time, he's smiling even through his own exhaustion, and his hands gather Ignis close.

It's only later, when they've laid down together to rest, that he notices the band on his wrist has changed color. He blinks in amazement at it, then lifts Ignis's hand to look at his wrist. Ignis's soulmark, hidden beneath the cuff of his glove, glows a matching red.

"Ignis," Prompto whispers, and Ignis swallows and nods.

 _OK_ , Prompto thinks, dazed. Maybe this soulmate thing is worth believing in after all.


End file.
